


What Rough Beast

by homoeroticismforthewin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Creepy Stalker, F/M, Gen, Horrifically pretentious, I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm so sorry, Not really romantic, Purple Prose, Wolf-shaped werewolves, non-canon compliant, smut-free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:34:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoeroticismforthewin/pseuds/homoeroticismforthewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter isn't the only strategic thinker in the Pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Rough Beast

**Author's Note:**

> My fanfic compo entry. I wanted to write Sterek but this story would not get out of the damn way. It's not what I usually write and I don't know how I feel about it. Feedback and concrit is more than welcome, as always.  
> Oh, also, huge thanks to my beta reader NaamahDarling, who hasn't seen the show, and thus can only be held responsible for making this better than it was.

Peter Hale had been biding his time for almost a year since Derek had failed to kill him. And it was certainly a failure. One that Peter was pleased with, but a failure nonetheless. He was a man capable of an almost glacial patience when it brought him closer to something that he wanted, and Peter wanted This. God, did he want it, with a longing that ground through him, reducing other, softer things in its path to grit.

He had his reservations of course, but then who didn’t, about murder? Only idiots. Luckily Peter had learned over time that he was able to live with the guilt, and frankly, live fairly well. Besides, challenging an Alpha wasn’t murder. It was nature taking its course, the line of succession. It wasn’t about the taking, it was about the getting, the possessing, and there was so much more to gain now.

Peter’s eyelids fluttered closed as he remembered the delicious surge of raw power climbing from the base of his spine and the soles of his feet and the palms of his hands as though drawn from the earth itself, and the buzzing, tingling feeling of supremacy grounding itself like electricity under his skin. He swallowed around the syrupy memory of it, thick and sticky. In addition to the ascension to Alphahood, by no means an insignificant prize, there was now the pack. He could only imagine, taste in the back of his throat like copper and spice and blood, how much more exhilarating and satisfying it would feel to be the Alpha of a dedicated and cohesive pack, a pack working in concert, rather than the ragged band of sulking adolescents only barely tolerating each other that the pack had begun as.

There had been perceptible changes in the pack over the last two years, and if Peter didn’t act soon he’d only be making things harder for himself. Because Derek was beginning to draw them together, and the teens were thriving in response to that nascent sense of family, turning into it like heliotropes towards the sun.

Scott, once dreamy and impulsive, was beginning to balance that with caution and discipline. Jackson had emerged from under the shadow of the kanima quieter, more serious, with the same incredible drive draped more comfortably around his shoulders. Boyd was still the pack’s rock, steady and measured, but he’d finally begun to relax into his new family. Erica had helped with that, just like Boyd had helped ground her. She was still hot-blooded and ferocious, but she acted less like she had something to prove and more like she knew what she was capable of, bravado transmuted into confidence. Isaac had discovered a steadfast tranquility. He’d moved away from his initial anger and cruelty, and become a sweet, strong, capable young man, easily the most devoted wolf Derek had, and a surprisingly skilled fighter.

The human members of the pack were coming together too. Stiles was Derek’s right hand these days: smart, loyal, and pragmatic to the point of ruthlessness. He still laughed readily, but being more at home in the pack meant he spent less time engaged in nervous babbling and flailing, and two years spent harboring secrets and braced for tragedy had made him harder, more somber. Peter had been right to offer him the bite, and when the time came, he’d do it again, perhaps with a little more persuasion.

Allison had been more peripheral, but her knowledge of how hunters operated, her proficiency with a bow, and her odd combination of clear-eyed optimism and exacting focus on the end goal meant that her place in the pack was assured, regardless of the status of her intermittent relationship with Scott. Danny was… well, Danny wouldn’t be human for much longer. Peter could smell that he wanted the bite, and obviously Derek knew what an asset to the pack he was with his computer expertise and easy-going charm. If Isaac’s puppy-dog eyes prompted everyone to be kind to one another, Danny’s relaxed smile reminded them all to unwind and enjoy each other.

And Lydia… well, calling Lydia human missed something, although nobody was exactly sure what yet. Even Deaton didn’t seem to know what she was, what her apparent immunity meant. She’d taken it in stride, though, because that was what Lydia did, and quickly made herself indispensable to the pack by translating texts, decoding archaic references, and reasoning through puzzles and patterns. She was brilliant and lovely, ferocious and single-minded.

Lydia was certainly worth his attention, it was why he’d chosen her to revive him to begin with. Of course, having tortured her for weeks and then forced her to reanimate his corpse, she might still be holding a grudge and that was always an unattractive quality in a mate. And that was essentially what Peter was looking for. Although he despised the archaic melodrama of the term, he needed someone to be his equal, and to run his pack with him. Because it was his pack, no matter how much time Derek had spent at the helm.

Peter was the one who had bitten Scott, who had put this whole process in motion. He had bitten Lydia, had initiated her into a world all the rest had been denying her, had seen what she was worth and made use of it. Mine, he thought, a growl rumbling low in his throat. Watching Derek in possession of his pack was salt in an open wound, and watching Lydia blossom under Derek’s careful hand was worse than maddening.

Yes, of all the things he stood to gain from deposing Derek, Peter thought he’d enjoy Lydia the most. Although obviously it was a win-win situation for everyone. Except Derek.

***

Lydia primly picked her way through underbrush, boots crunching through the snow, avoiding low-hanging branches. Beneath her fuzzy white hat, snowflakes and ice crystals glittered in her hair, and moonlight stabbed at intervals through the awning of branches overhead, illuminating her path. Her lips were curled into an impish smirk, as they so often were when nobody was around. It was the face she made when she was delighting in her own thoughts, numbers and logical structures dancing to the cadences of her intellect.

She was lovely, and dynamic, and flawless. Peter was grateful for it. Savoring Lydia’s beauty, her intelligence and strength, was how Peter had been able to tolerate the months of interminable anticipation of his opportunity. It was agonizing waiting for the pack to be ready, for Derek to make a mistake… So he focused on Lydia, and let that draw him away from the acid in his gut and the resentment and the jealous rage.

Peter followed Lydia, several yards back, nearly silent in his pursuit. She wouldn’t hear him coming with her human ears, but the whole pack was in the woods tonight to celebrate the full moon and to enjoy the novelty of snow. Ahead of him, Lydia stepped into a patch of moonlight and slowed, looking around. His breath puffed out in slight steamy huffs, and his claws extended at her unexpected pause, embedding themselves in the bark of the tree he stood half-concealed behind.

As he watched uneasily, Lydia removed her gloves and her hat, stuffing them into the pockets of her marshmallow-colored parka, and then unzipped the coat and slipped it from her shoulders, laying it out on the snow-covered ground. Peter’s breath faltered. She sat down on the thick, down-filled jacket, and started unlacing her boots. When she finished, she pulled her boots off and nestled them side by side, upright in the snow. She pulled off her socks, and slipped them into the boots, one in each.

She stood, feet placed carefully on the insulating surface of the parka, and pulled her thick, luxurious sweater over her head. She folded it carefully, and balanced it on top of her boots, then repeated the smooth motion with the thinner cotton shirt she’d worn underneath. Peter felt his fangs extend until they sliced the insides of his lips and blood flooded his mouth, but he kept still and silent, transfixed and unnerved by this bizarre spectacle. 

Lydia took a moment to stretch her arms and shoulders, running her hands smoothly over the surface of her hair before reaching for her button. She stripped quickly and stepped out of the hobble of her jeans, pale feet like small delicate fish, and she paused to fold the heavy fabric, and stack it carefully on top of her boots and clothes. Straightening, she reached behind her to unhook her bra. Peter’s mouth felt dry, and he swallowed sandpaper as he hugged the tree closer. He watched Lydia with unblinking eyes as she removed the last of her clothing with relaxed movements and stood for a moment, completely naked, looking strangely satisfied.

Peter felt a low growl rumble involuntarily in his throat, and his eyes were glowing blue, when Lydia turned suddenly, looking directly at him. She cocked her head and pursed her lips in silent mirth, hands on her hips.

“Well, isn’t this familiar?”

At the sound of Lydia’s puckish chirp, Peter froze in place, heart pounding. Lydia took a step off of her coat, and faced him down. Her fierce gaze immobilized him and they held in position for a moment, tension coiled around them and cradled between them like an artery, pulsing and solid. Then she was marching towards him, feet disappearing under the crust of the snow without the slightest hitch in her stride, face snapped back to impassivity, apparently totally impervious to cold and self-consciousness. Peter could smell something like resolve rolling off of her in hot dizzying waves, and found himself taking an involuntary step back as she stopped mere inches away from him, staring up into his face with tranquility in her eyes and a quizzical cant to her head.

“Peter, I think we know each other pretty well now, wouldn’t you say, what with you making me think I was psychotic and me bringing you back from the dead? I feel like we’ve grown to understand each other.”

Ah, so she was still mad. Peter nodded stiffly.

“Good.” Lydia’s tone was cool and clipped, sounding remarkably like the one she used in pack meetings when one of the other betas had the gall to question her conclusions, and she flashed him a hard little smirk. “Now, because we understand each other, I think I can be fairly frank with you. It’s clear that your role in the pack is in flux. Derek has given you a second chance, and for the last year you have lived up to his expectations admirably.”

Lydia’s finger reached up to trace coyly across the fabric of the jacket stretched across Peter’s chest in lazily widening circles. Her voice dropped into a soothing purr.

“You do what you’re told, like a good little Beta. But the problem is that Derek, as far improved as he is as an Alpha, has a lot on his mind this year. He’s missing a few subtle cues that might tell him whether your commitment to the pack is flagging, or if you were planning something stupid, like trying to challenge him.” Lydia paused, and presented Peter with a dazzling, uncanny smile.

“Now, personally, I think you’re just bored. So I’m going to give you something to think about. I know you’re too smart to intentionally do anything that would threaten or undermine pack stability. And you know that you wouldn’t stand a chance against a united Pack, which is what we are now. You also know that if you tried anything at all, you’d end up a lonely Omega. And then, because of who you are and how much Chris Argent loves you deeply as a person, you’d end up a bisected Omega after the first hint of trouble.”

Lydia’s eyes darkened, hardened into ice, and her jaw set. Her voice continued, low and gravelly, and her fingernail continued to drag slowly, threateningly across his chest with an unnaturally loud rasp. “And Derek wouldn’t save you. Oh, he’d feel terrible about it, but he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be worth risking the pack. Because you might be family, but we are who he Chose.”

Peter felt his skin crawl as the cold of the night seemed to suddenly set in all at once, as though he were the one standing naked in the snow. Lydia’s eyes held his like magnets. 

“And if you ever think for a second about turning on him, on Us, I want you to remember that you would be coming up against something a lot scarier than just Derek and the pack,” she smirked, eyes flashing vicious red and voice dropping into a growl. “You’d come up against me.”

***

Peter staggered back in shock, grabbing at the tree trunk for balance. He felt the rough drag of bark against his chest, and looked down to see his jacket shredded, a lazy spiral etched through the leather over his heart. He shuddered, remembering the flash of red in Lydia’s eyes, which just for a moment hadn’t looked like her eyes at all, but instead like the familiar eyes of…

“Laura.” 

The name fell from his lips silently, his voice dying in his throat.

A crash from the thicket of underbrush behind him made him jump, and Peter turned to see a flash of green eyes, of cream-colored fur, as a wolf raced exuberantly past to rejoin her pack.

***


End file.
